


Hearts Scraped Raw

by withoutthetiger



Category: Castle
Genre: Angst, Episode Related, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-04
Updated: 2015-09-05
Packaged: 2018-04-19 02:10:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,980
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4728821
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/withoutthetiger/pseuds/withoutthetiger
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Still, she’s smiling, and it’s the same gorgeous, open smile that he’s seen more in the past several weeks than in their first few years of working together, stunning in its sincerity. If he didn’t know better, he’d think it held an unspoken dream, curved around honesty and love and forever." Castle and Kate attend Ryan's wedding just as their own relationship is falling apart.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This was written for an anonymous tumblr prompt: Caskett season 4 AU. Ryan's wedding happens sometime after 47 Seconds.

He’s been having several versions of the same argument all day – the past few days, really – and as Castle drapes the tie around his neck, tugging it into place around his raised collar, he stares into his bathroom mirror and fights with himself one last time.

Some despondent part of him wants to throw the tie to the floor, kick it across the tile, and leave it abandoned in the corner with his stupid, too-open heart while he hides in his office with a drink. Getting dressed up and forcing the corners of his mouth upward for the next several hours will only worsen the headache that’s settled into a rhythmic reminder of how much he doesn’t want to think anymore. Alcohol would help with that, too, and the decanter in his office beckons further. That invitation is far more enticing than the one for which he’s already rsvp’d, though he supposes there will be plenty of options for drowning his sorrows at the reception; if he can just make it through the ceremony, he’ll be okay.

The angrier side of him rallies then, shouting that there is no reason for him to settle for “okay” when he has every right to enjoy himself in the company of people he considers friends. He will hold his head high as he celebrates Ryan’s wedded bliss, grinning as he offers a toast to happiness, even as it seems to have slipped through his fingers. And she’ll be there, of course, her brilliantly wide eyes and lying smile certain to make promises she never intends to keep, but tonight will be an excellent time to stop caring. In fact, maybe it’s the perfect test to see if it’s worth being part of their immediate family any longer. Perhaps he can simply share one final night of laughter with them before he bids them farewell.

And _fuck_ , that hurts. He wants to tell her he loves her a million more times before he ever has to say goodbye.

Scowling at his reflection, he realizes he’s made a mess of his Windsor knot, something he should be able to create in his sleep, but apparently can’t manage while he’s distracted by thoughts of Kate and all the hopes she’d crushed so absolutely with thirteen not-so-lucky words.

_I was shot in the chest and I remember every second of it._

He fixes his tie and squares his shoulders, welcoming the illusion of confidence he doesn’t actually feel. It’s probably good that Alexis bailed as his date; though he isn’t particularly thrilled about the loneliness inherent in attending a wedding without a plus one, his daughter shouldn’t be a witness to his special brand of melancholic resentment. Had there been any more notice, he probably would have found a buxom blonde to bring along, someone fun and uncomplicated to keep him company from the church to the dance floor and everything in between.

Instead, he’s on his own.

It’s a reality he needs to embrace, and tonight seems like a good time to start.

* * *

 

Smoothing the front her dress with her free hand, her clutch in the other, Kate scans the gathering guests for Castle and Alexis even as she admonishes herself for being so damn obvious. It’s ridiculous to be anxious about his arrival, but ever since the end of the Boylan Plaza bombing case and his decision to go home instead of having a drink with her, there has been an uncomfortable distance between them. And she doesn’t think it’s solely because he’d turned her down – he’s not under any obligation to take her up on a purely social offer – but there had been something unapologetic about the way he’d walked away from her, and she’s felt it in every reaction he’s had to her presence in the few days since.

Something is not quite right in Castle’s world; still, he’s a light-hearted romantic and a wedding is the perfect setting to help him smile again. His daughter may be his date for the evening, but Kate will gladly stay close enough to get that celebratory drink with him at the reception. Better late than never.

She finally spots him, just as tall, dark, and handsome as she expected him to be, and she takes a hopeful breath as she makes her way to his side. It’s only when she’s a few feet away that she realizes he’s alone.

“Where’s your date?”

Whatever she’d expected his response to be, it did not include the cold stare he offers when he turns at the sound of her question. He blinks it away quickly enough, but as he explains that Alexis is at a Lady Gaga concert with a boy from school, she notes that Castle’s voice lacks the warmth she’s come to associate with him. It’s more than a little disconcerting, but she shrugs off the weight of her worry and quietly suggests that they can be each other’s plus one.

He nods as though he’s trying to convince himself it’s a good idea, but it’s a nod just the same. “Yeah, and then avoid the stigma of sitting at the singles table. Yes, that would be nice. I would like that.”

When Ryan skips toward them, his excitement is a welcome balm for the awkward silence that lingers, rough and unwanted, after her brief conversation with Castle, and she feels herself light up again, taking a quick picture of the groom before wrapping her arms around him. Esposito joins them a second later and she loves that her team gets the chance to be together before Ryan’s big moment. Then she sees Jenny and her bridesmaids line up on the stairs, so Kate gives Ryan a playful shove and encourages him to get into place for the ceremony, Esposito following close behind.

“You know, I gotta say, I kind of envy him,” Castle mutters.

She’s not sure she’s expected to say anything back – and perhaps he didn’t mean for her to hear him in the first place – but she can’t seem to let it slide. Some part of her trusts that she’ll figure out what has Castle so bothered, and once she does, they can finally focus on the things she doesn’t want to put off anymore.

“Well, who knows, Castle. Maybe third time’s a charm.”

* * *

 

It’s a cruel joke, this time he’s spending arm in arm with her. There’s something reverent about the way the last of the sunlight blesses them with color as it passes through the stained glass of the church walls, and he looks down into eyes he didn’t think could be any more intense. Pachelbel’s Canon in D provides a soothing soundtrack to their stroll down the aisle, countering the fierce twisting of his heart when he reminds himself not to dream. He takes in the flowers, the guests, and the future that seems so certain for Ryan and Jenny, and he really does envy that happily ever after.

The fairytale has failed him twice – or he’s failed it – and he sees no reason to share Kate’s hope for a third. And when did she become such an optimist anyway? How does her light seem brighter just as his has dimmed?

Even when she slips her arm free from the crook of his elbow and steps toward the pew, she seeks contact, reaching her hand back with the same insistence she’d had the day they were cuffed together. Almost without thinking, he slides his palm against her and lets her lead him past the couple of guests already seated in their row, still following after all this time while his pride lags behind.

At least she releases his hand when they settle against the unforgiving wooden bench, and Castle turns his attention to Ryan and his groomsmen lined up near the altar; staring ahead will keep him from ducking his head toward the lure of Kate’s perfume. She doesn’t wear it at the precinct, but the scent is still so damn _her_ , the notes of mandarin, vanilla, and sandalwood drawing him back to an undercover evening with his Ferrari and a tight black dress and music that kept his heart pounding long after the sway of her hips had left him breathless. He shifts in his seat – the timing of this particular memory is terrible for several reasons – and he senses her arched eyebrow even before he glances sideways to confirm it. The quirk of her lips suggests she’s enjoying herself far more than he is, and he’s grateful when familiar chords and excited murmurs announce the imminence of Jenny’s arrival.

Everything will be fine. He’ll smile through the vows in which he’d once believed, make pleasant conversation during a delicious dinner, congratulate the happy couple after their first dance, and then be on his way. Kate will shine strong enough for both of them, and he’ll return to the loft in the comfort of the early night.

* * *

 

The wedding Mass is perfect for Ryan and Jenny, both grand and intimate, and Kate feels the pull of the grin that has yet to fall from her face. In the past hour, it’s been threatened only by her persistent curiosity, a detective’s need to solve the mystery playing out before her as Castle continues to erect a wall between them, just as hers is crumbling at her feet. She’s aligned her body with his, using their shared hymnal as a reason to press closer with each new song, their voices blending beautifully even as they seem to have lost their rhythm elsewhere. Each time they sit, her hand very consciously drops to her thigh, resting so near his own and giving him every opportunity to tangle his fingers with hers; instead, his jaw tightens and her hand curls against the emptiness.

Once the happy couple has officially become husband and wife, their joy reflected by the friends and family who are now scattered throughout the church and shuffling toward the exits, Kate searches Castle’s face for the creases that suggest his delight has reached his eyes. The spark that warns her of mischief to come. The tenderness that reminds her of the love he professed nearly a year ago.

None of it appears.

She forces her smile to stay in place.

“Are you guys planning on hanging out in here all night or can we head over to the reception now?”

Kate startles at Lanie’s interruption and wonders how long she’s been staring at Castle; if the knowing look her friend offers is any indication, it’s been a while. She shakes her head clear of the disappointment she still feels and redirects the question. “We’re ready, but do we need to wait for your date or will Esposito be escorting you throughout the rest of the festivities?”

Lanie isn’t put off so easily. “Look at you, Kate Beckett. Trying to take the attention off of the most interesting couple of the evening…and I’m not talking about the newlyweds.”

The flush crawls over her cheeks, hot and humbling, but Esposito hurries up to them then, oblivious to the not-so-subtle allegation. “Yo, let’s go get some food. I’m starving.”

And with that, the four of them make their way from the church to the reception venue down the street. Castle finally becomes more animated in the company of their friends, telling them about Alexis’s plans for the night and lamenting the loss of his date to a teenage boy and some pop music. Kate throws her head back, laughing as she reminds him of the dozen or so Lady Gaga songs on his phone, but she’s only rewarded with a quick shrug in response. When Lanie gives in to the tug of Esposito’s hand, she admits that both of their dates had come down with sudden ailments during the ceremony and had decided to duck out immediately after it ended.

She’s honestly glad to see that her friends have found their way back together, but as she tries and fails to catch Castle’s attention, she’s losing hope that she might get her own share of the romance that hangs so heavy in the air tonight.

* * *

 

Dinner has been cleared, the first dance complete, but Castle has yet to find a way to excuse himself from the reception. Or perhaps he just isn’t trying hard enough. After all, even with the lies, selfishness, and pity fueling his anger, Kate Beckett has one hell of a grip around his heart, and leaving it behind isn’t as easy as he’d like it to be.

He feels pressure against his shoulder and turns to see Kate nudging him with the back of her hand. “Brought you a drink.”

Accepting it with a nod, he waits for her to sit next to him with her own cocktail. Glancing over her shoulder, he can see Lanie and Esposito still standing near the bar with a couple of other guests, Ryan and Jenny are busy greeting people along the perimeter of the room when they aren’t on the dance floor or sneaking a quick kiss, and Gates and her husband have disappeared.

“It looks like we’re all alone,” he observes. A week ago, that comment probably would have been accompanied by a waggling eyebrow or a suggestive wink – or both – but tonight he sighs in resignation and meets her glass for a polite toast.

To what, he doesn’t really know.

Still, she’s smiling, and it’s the same gorgeous, open smile that he’s seen more in the past several weeks than in their first few years of working together, stunning in its sincerity. If he didn’t know better, he’d think it held an unspoken dream, curved around honesty and love and forever.

She clears her throat and he does what he can to swallow the accusations caught in his. “Listen, Castle, I know we didn’t get a chance to---“

“Come on! This is a party. Get off your asses and dance with us!”

Kate can’t finish whatever she’d been about to say when Lanie and Esposito, both breathing the fire of a few tequila shots, pull them to their feet and drag them toward the people bouncing to the DJ’s eclectic selection of songs. He’s pretty sure he hates them a little, but he tosses his suit jacket over his chair and rolls up his sleeves as he follows their lead. And because nothing about the night is going the way he’d hoped when he’d first responded to the invitation, fantasies of all that could happen amid wedding magic dashed days ago, it’s no surprise that the tempo of the music slows as they step onto the dance floor, couples already beginning to sway to the familiar ballad.

The hands that reach for him are both timid and bold, shaking and sturdy, and he’s powerless to resist their pull. Without thinking any further, he tucks Kate against his body, fighting the surge of warmth that comes with the realization that she slipped off her heels before they left the table; it makes the moment more intimate, even as they’re surrounded by strangers, and he closes his eyes to appreciate the way they fit.

If they never get anything else, at least he’ll remember this.

* * *

 

She feels his entire body soften as he exhales, his breath warm against her hair, and she is relieved that he’s _finally_ willing to be close to her. Was this how it had been for him in the early days of their partnership, when he’d pushed so hard to be by her side? When he’d cracked jokes and brought coffees and only wanted to see her have a little fun? What happened during their bombing case to make them switch places? Why is she so ready to go after the one thing she wants, when he seems to have given up?

“What changed?”

His steps and his heartbeat stutter, and it’s her first hint that she spoke aloud. But then he ducks his head toward hers, eyebrows raised, and she realizes he’s waiting for her to repeat whatever he hadn’t quite heard. Kate considers shaking it away, allowing herself to stay pressed against him until the last of the wedding guests leave and they’re forced to separate, but this is too important. She needs to know what’s wrong.

As they begin to dance again, she rises onto her tiptoes and brings her mouth to his ear, so much like she had when she’d taunted him after their first case.

She’s far less confident now.

“What changed between us, Castle? You’ve been different the past few days. Distant. Unhappy.” The hand holding hers tightens uncomfortably, and the one so perfectly splayed across her back freezes in place, so she rambles on before he can stop her. “And I’d worry that something’s wrong at home or with your writing or a million other things, except that you’re still the same around everyone else. You’re only being weird with me and I just need to know why. What did I do?”

She lowers herself to the floor, their height difference pronounced in a way it’s not at the precinct, and he must think she’s about to walk away because he clings to her; it’s an odd reaction given that he’s been the one acting so damn cold. He’s shaking his head against hers, even as they continue to rock in each other’s arms, and she doesn’t know what to do with this desperate sort of silence.

“Please, not now. I can’t,” he whispers as he leans down. “Please give me this one dance.”

So she does.

Selfishly, she wants it at least as much as he suddenly seems to, this contact that they’ve so rarely shared. Their timing has always been terrible, and tonight is really no exception, but in these few minutes they can maintain their tenuous connection, agree to a truce in a war she didn’t know had been waged. She rests her head on his chest, lets her fingertips trail along his spine, and waits.

But they move together too long, too perfectly, and it hurts that much more when the song ends and he pulls back to look at her, his words turning her blood to ice water.

“You’re a liar.”


	2. Chapter 2

He hadn’t been sure he’d be able to make eye contact when he finally spoke, but some wicked part of him wanted to catch the flash of hurt when he called her out.

He regrets it immediately.

No amount of heartache can be cured by the pool of tears threatening to spill down her face. No hope of a future together will be restored by slicing her open with the sharp edge of his anger. He’s done nothing but give them matching wounds and he just wants to reach out and heal hers, but she has already stepped back and she flinches at his touch.

“What are you talking about?”

She’s breathless and her head is tilted with the weight of her confusion, but he drags her from the many couples still happy on the dance floor, stopping only when they’re less likely to become a spectacle. “Your shooting. You remember every second of it.”

She’s quiet for so long, and he thinks she might be forming another lie until she chokes out the beginning of something nearly as pathetic. “Oh, god. I didn’t want---“

“Didn’t want what, Beckett?” The use of her surname stings her, and he’s not at all sorry about that. “Didn’t want me to know the truth? Didn’t want me to realize that my feelings are unrequited? Didn’t want me to have a reason to finally step away from your pathologically lonely life?”

Her eyes narrow as she backs him against the wall and hisses, “I didn’t want to have this conversation until I was ready. But you know what’s really fucking funny here? That I decided I was ready to talk at the same time you decided you didn’t want to listen.”

And then she’s gone, stalking toward their table and grabbing her heels and clutch, and he really doesn’t want her leaving while she’s this upset, really doesn’t want her distracted late at night while she’s all alone.

Really doesn’t want her to have the last word.

So, he follows her and yanks his jacket from the back of his chair, not bothering to put it on as he hurries after her; the chill between them is far worse than the cool night air. Kate rushes from the reception hall and through the lobby, shoving the front doors open and only glancing down the dark street before she crosses. He calls her name a few times, earning nothing more than an over-the-shoulder glare for his efforts, and Castle can’t quite figure out how he’s gone from being hurt and humiliated to chasing after Kate for a chance to work this out without any more pain. A chance for her to admit she doesn’t love him, and a chance for him to walk away with his head held high.

Without warning, he finds himself caught in the muted rush of a revolving door, nearly tripping in his surprise as he’s dumped into another building; the front desk and luggage carts suggest they’re in a hotel. He has no idea where she’s leading him, but after shadowing her for so long, he has no choice but to find out.

* * *

 

Of course he’s crowded at her back as they spill into the hotel lobby. Even with anger, miscommunication, and half-truths between them, he won’t give her space, and she scoffs at the idea of him calling her “pathologically lonely” when he’s never more than a step behind her.

Though she supposes she understands all too well about being lonely even when one isn’t alone at all.

At least he’s stopped shouting her name, so that’s one less embarrassment as they make their way to the elevator; another guest waits there, and Kate isn’t interested in having an audience for anything about to happen. When they ride up to her floor, neither of them speak – nor does the tired gentleman trapped in their awkwardness – but Kate finally snaps when they’re moving down the hall and toward the room she’d checked into that afternoon.

“I don’t get it, Castle. From the moment you met me, you’ve claimed to want the story. You’ve spent years turning pages, devouring chapter after chapter of my life as though you couldn’t get enough of it, but then you reached a plot twist you didn’t like and you’re ready to bail on the ending. You’re insatiably curious and you’ve never stopped pushing before.” They arrive at the door of her room, but she falls against the wall beside it and looks up at him. “Why are you giving up on me now? Why couldn’t you turn one more page?”

She spins back to the door and fumbles with her clutch until she finds the key card, unlocking the door a moment later. There’s no reason to linger in the entryway while she waits to lock the door behind her – Castle can handle that – so she shuffles further into the room and tosses her shoes and purse onto the floor. When she hears the rattle of the chain sliding into place and the solid thud of the deadbolt, she sighs and takes a couple of steps back toward him.

Slumped against the door, Castle closes his eyes as though he is afraid to keep the conversation going, but is finally resigned to seeing it through. “Tell me why I should keep going, Kate. What comes next in your story?”

Moving closer still, she remains silent until he manages to look at her again. Everything is so damaged, their hearts scraped raw, but she forces herself to believe that they can do this. She isn’t ready to accept the alternative.

“Next is when I tell you that I love you, too.”

* * *

 

His jaw drops.

She catches it with the palm of her hand, cradling his face when she leans in to kiss him. Dozens of questions hoping to be given a voice are replaced by the exquisite drag of her tongue against his, and he’s at war with himself; he wants answers, but he never, ever wants to stop kissing Kate Beckett. Her body presses further into him – if she has questions of her own, she’s getting plenty of answers with that thrust of her hips – and some stupid part of him just wants to laugh. He’s been so turned around for the past few days, even more so in the past few hours, and he has no idea how they’ve ended up in a random hotel room making out against the door after she’s told him she loves him, but somehow it’s so perfectly them. At the very least, the entire mess deserves an eye roll and a smile of surrender.

They can take care of that after the kissing.

Right now, they’re busy trying to maintain some sort of civility with their mouths while their fingers claw for any skin to touch. His jacket has fallen to the floor beside them and he’s trying to toe off his shoes as he reaches for the zipper on her dress, and he can’t figure out where the damn thing is and _fuck it_ , he grabs the hem of the skirt instead and tugs upward until it’s bunched around her hips and his hands can skate over the bare skin of her thighs. Kate has pulled his tie loose and untucked his shirt, and now she’s scrambling to unfasten the buttons in her way; her progress comes to an abrupt end when he slips his hand down the front of her lace thong and her knees buckle.

“God, you’re wet,” he murmurs against her lips.

She hums in response before another deep kiss leaves him physically unable to speak. They begin to stumble through the room, eventually separating long enough to forgo their frenzied attempts to undress each other, and ridding themselves of their own clothes instead. He grabs her wrist just as she goes for her thong and shakes his head. He’ll remove that when he’s ready.

They’re tangled together again, so much revealed to them now and explored with hands and lips and fingers and teeth that can’t seem to satisfy their needs quickly enough. It’s chaotic and everything he always suspected they’d be – though he’d given up hope in recent days – and he wants to touch and taste every inch of her. He nudges her backward until she’s sprawled on the bed and he can crawl over her, flicking the tip of his tongue over one taut nipple before he shifts his head and takes the other into his mouth. Then, ignoring the way he aches for her, he travels the length of her body, seeking the secret spots that make her squirm and smiling against her skin with each new sound she makes.

His hands are wrapped around her ankles when he begins to make his way back up, opening her further to his curious gaze, and he watches the horizon of her chest rise and fall as he kisses a path along the inside of her leg. She’s stunning. And there’s still so much they haven’t said, so much that could go to hell tomorrow, but even if this is all they ever have, he will love her for every second of it.

Finally, he tucks his fingers into the waistband of her thong, draws the lace down her trembling legs, and tosses it aside. It leaves her exposed. Vulnerable. And his to adore.

* * *

 

The heat of his breath, promising everything that will follow, has her eyes slamming shut; this is exactly what she’s waited for, and though part of her screams that they are being careless with partially-broken hearts, Castle’s mouth is on her and she doesn’t want to think about anything but the dream that is coming true. After so many frustrated whispers of his name, and all the nights she came in an empty room, she’s lost in the way his tongue slides through the arousal he’s found waiting for his touch.

She’s spinning out of control quickly, and she thinks she’d be embarrassed if she weren’t so swept up in this desperate, carnal _need_. There’s no way to hide from him now and she arches into him for more, silently begging; his broad hands bracket her waist in response, pushing her back down to the bed. Being held in place only heightens every sensation, and she combs her hands through his hair until she can pretend to have some measure of control while her core weeps and the tension builds. It’s unfair how well he knows her, how he’s perfected the combination of licking and teasing and sucking and humming that has her panting while he brings her to the edge and keeps her there.

“Please,” she cries, and it’s all it takes for Castle to suck on her clit one more time. He seems equally intent on keeping her hips pinned to the mattress while she comes against his mouth, and she can only gasp for air when he eases her back down, her body still shaking as he lies alongside her and kisses her neck.

It’s not enough for her, so she rolls toward him and captures his mouth with her own, moaning at the flavor lingering on his tongue. She’s still heavy with pleasure, sated and happy in a way she hasn’t been in so long, but she’s also done being passive in her enjoyment of his body, so she keeps moving until he’s fully on his back. Then she swings a leg over his, positioning herself on his thighs with her knees resting on either side, and reaches forward to stroke him while she studies his reaction.

He’s observed her for years, and it’s wonderful to stare back unabashedly; the timid glances she’s allowed herself aren’t sufficient anymore.

So she delights in the flutter of his eyelids as he fights to watch her watching him. She revels in the whimper she elicits when she runs her thumb over his tip. She enjoys the twitch of his hands when she rises on her knees to rub him back and forth across her center. And she definitely appreciates the groan of her name as she lowers her body and takes him deep inside.

* * *

 

Somehow his hands find their way to Kate’s waist and the contact helps ground him. He’s really here – _they’re_ really here – and he can’t let his mind wander to the many hopes and fears that have driven him to this moment. Instead, he memorizes the swell of her breasts, the rhythm of her hips, and the scar he’d ignored during his first survey of her body, the reminder of just how _alive_ they are, damaged and still deserving of love.

Without thinking, he brings his fingertips to her side, tracing the line of the healed surgical wound there, then trips across her bare skin to feel the mark on her chest, her heartbeat strong beneath it. Kate falters under his scrutiny, and it comes as no surprise when she brushes his hand aside and leans down to distract him with a kiss, even as she rocks against him again. He gives her a moment to gather herself, comfortable with the near-silence of their connection, but eventually submits to the demands of the words on his tongue.

“You’re beautiful, Kate.”

He thinks she’s overwhelmed, speeding up as she grinds against him and ignoring the way he’d passed the compliment from his tongue to hers, but then she begins to chant, “No, Castle. You. You. You.”

It’s all he can do to rein in the emotions threatening to spill into the small space between them, and he turns his attention to the physical desire that jerks his body toward hers, wanting to be buried that much deeper, gripped that much tighter. He’d love to slip a hand between them, make her come with his fingertips pressed against her, but he’s aware that’s she has taken control here. Kate has set the pace that will work for her, their skin slick from her efforts, and he simply guides her movements while she slides down his length time and time again.

When everything becomes a bit messier, their occasional kisses sloppy and the collision of their bodies more erratic, he knows she’s close. And while he doesn’t want to let go – is a little afraid of letting _her_ go – he knows he’s been fighting his own release for too long.

The expression on her face may be enough to force his climax; her eyes are unfocused, her mouth open, and her cheeks flushed. It’s erotic and more than he’d imagined. “I love you so, so much. Come for me, Kate. Come one more time.”

She claws at his shoulders and he hears her mumble _close, more, god, want, fuck_ , and _ohhhhhhhhh_ just before he feels her muscles spasm against him. He chases her in the next second, bucking his hips and wrapping his arms around her until he’s spent, careful not to make her stay on top of him if she’s ready to run.

But she isn’t.

Instead, she nuzzles impossibly closer to whisper, “And I love you.”

* * *

 

They’re drowsy and she thinks they might be about to fall asleep, willing to ignore the need to clean themselves up if it means they can stay like this, her body draped over his while his hand traces random patterns across her back. Suddenly he freezes, his palm spread just above her hip, and she jerks her head upward, eyebrows knitted as she waits on whatever Castle’s about to say.

“Where the hell are we?”

She barks out a relieved laugh. “I got a room at the hotel across the street from the reception. I just figured I’d be tired after drinking and dancing for hours, plus it was more convenient to get ready here this afternoon.”

Castle nods as she rolls off his chest, and they work together to wriggle beneath the duvet and pull the sheet over their cooling bodies. Then she curls into his side, unwilling to lose contact completely, and sighs happily when she feels his steady heartbeat against her fingers.

They’ll get up soon. Maybe they’ll shower. Maybe they’ll enjoy round two. Maybe they’ll enjoy round two in the shower. The possibilities are endless.

“You know I’m still mad.”

Oh, and there’s that, too. They’ll have to talk. “I know. And an apology won’t instantly make things better, but I am sorry, Castle. I never, ever wanted to hurt you. I just wanted to deserve you.”

His responding kiss is long, lazy, and perfect, but when he pulls away to speak, it’s his turn to sigh. “We both have broken parts of us. And plenty of things we keep hidden for fear that sharing will do damage we’re not prepared to handle. But perhaps we need to give each other a little more credit. Tell the truth a little more often.”

“Allegedly, it conquers all.”

He smiles at that, though she recognizes the flicker of conflict in his eyes; there’s more he’d like to say, but he’s choosing to pass on the opportunity for now. “Maybe we can continue this conversation in the morning, after a nice breakfast and lots of coffee?”

“Sure, Castle,” she smirks, “But what will we do with ourselves in the meantime?”

The question is barely out of her mouth when he covers her body with his, pushing her legs apart with his knees and sucking on an overly-sensitive spot on her neck. One of his hands comes up to tease the underside of her breast, and her nails dig into his back in retaliation, even as she pulls him closer.

He hasn’t properly answered her, but she’s sure they can think of something.


End file.
